The Sorcer part 1: The Fort at River's Bend cc-5

by Jack Whyte

  "Luke," I began, but he waved me to silence before I had even begun. When he did speak, his voice held all of the detachment of his professional persona. My friend Luke was silent; my other friend, Lucanus the surgeon and physician, was speaking.

  "You told me once, Caius, the last time we had words, that there is no need for apologies between us when we spark differences occasionally. That applies now ... But I deserved your reaction there, for my own carelessness in failing to be aware how concerned you are, still, about this—condition of yours. I know it frightens you deeply, but you conceal your distress so well that I had lost sight of it. So, we shall address it now. Undo your tunic."

  "Why? You looked at the damned thing this morning."

  "I did, but now I require you to look at it with me. Humour me. Expose it."

  I did as he requested, laying bare my breast so that The Mark, as I had come to think of it, lay open to his scrutiny and my own, foreshortened as that was by the awkward angle from which I had to peer at it.

  Lucanus moved close to me and reached out, pinching the flesh of my breast, then stretching it between finger and thumb so that the skin around The Mark whitened almost to the colour of the dead patch at the centre of the blemish itself.

  "Does it hurt?" I shook my head. "Can you feel it at all? When I pinch?"

  "No."

  "Very well, now think carefully, has it changed in any way—shape, colour, sensitivity, anything at all—in recent months?"

  I thought about it, stifling the immediate negative that sprang to my tongue. The blemish had not, in fact, increased in size since it had first appeared, so that I still could cover it completely with the pad of my thumb. "No," I said, eventually. "You know it hasn't."

  "Correct, I know it has not, but we are conducting this particular examination for your benefit, not mine. So, there has been no change: no proliferation, no spread, no swelling, no soreness, no pus and no breaks in the skin; no leaks of fluid of any kind, and no itching. Correct?" I nodded again. He straightened up. "Good. Now cover yourself up again and listen to what I have to say to you." As I rearranged my tunic he went back to the chair opposite me, picking up his cup and sitting down to face me.

  "As you know, I am familiar with what frightens you most: the disease of leprosy, and the very idea of it. I have worked with it, and among lepers, for many years. I believe, utterly and with totality, Cay, that this—manifestation, of whatever it is you have, is not a leprous lesion. It could be any one of a hundred other things, some known, some unknown. I'll know more when I lay my hands on that scroll I mentioned. If I'm right, it's in a chest that I once gave to your Aunt Luceiia. I've written to Ambrose and asked him to look for it. If he finds it, he'll send the entire contents of the chest to me by the next vessel of Connor's that calls in there. But!" He stood up again and crossed to stand directly in front of me, looking down at me. "But. Your fears, my friend, those fears that just now spilled from you, are groundless. Listen to me. Even if whatever it is that you now have were to become leprosy at some future date, it is harmless, at this time, to others. Do you understand that, Caius? It is harmless. To cause contagion, of any kind, it would have to be active ... to be leaking, to be exuding poisons, to be sweating secretions of some kind. That is not the case, with you.

  "I have never lied to you, my friend, and I will not begin to do so now, over this. What you have on your skin, this mark, is merely a deadened surface area bearing some slight, arguable resemblance to some forms of leprous lesions. And the important word in all of that is 'lesions' ... plural. You have only one mark, and it has been unique since it appeared, almost a full year ago. It is my firm opinion, based on a lifetime of medical study and practice, that there is not the slightest possibility that you are capable of presenting any threat, of any kind of contagion, to any person. And that embraces, most specifically, your presence in the bathhouse. Have I made myself clear?"

  "Yes."

  "And, more important, do you believe me?"

  I thought about all he had said, weighing not merely his words and his credibility but his tone and demeanour, and I felt relief and gratitude well up in me, so that a smile came easily to my eyes and lips, and my entire chest expanded with well-being. He was watching me closely as I nodded, very gently at first, then with increasing conviction and gratitude. I raised my cup again, this time anticipating the fullness of the wine.

  "Aye, Luke. I believe you. So be it."

  Before the following day had run its course, my acceptance of Lucanus's opinion was challenged directly. I was relaxing at the time, sprawled out in company with Lucanus, Donuil and Derek in the quiet of the refurbished steam room after the hustle and bustle of the long, holiday afternoon of athletic events and speechmaking. Conversation had been desultory, all of us lulled and lethargic with the heat and humidity, but Donuil eventually sighed and stood up and left us, having volunteered to go and find out when the evening meal was to be served. Lucanus lay, apparently asleep, on the marble bench along the side of the room to my right, and I was lazily watching the steam eddies, enjoying doing nothing, when Derek suddenly leaned towards me and threw me into a complete panic.

  "What's that mark there, on your chest? Some kind of scar?"

  I closed my eyes quickly, drawing a great, deep breath, forcing myself not to stiffen and gathering myself to be able to look down casually. The Mark stood out plainly in here, against the natural darkness of my skin, its whiteness emphasized by the additional whiteness of the chest hairs that grew within its borders. Now I gazed down at it again, keenly aware of Luke's unmoving presence against the wall.

  "No," I heard myself saying, almost musingly, "it's not a scar. It's some kind of skin ailment. Lucanus is fascinated by it, whatever it is ... he's forever poking and prodding at it. But it doesn't hurt, doesn't itch, and doesn't get any bigger. He expects it simply to disappear some day, like a wart."

  "Hmm." Derek, I saw gratefully, was not really interested. His curiosity had been nothing more than momentary notice of an anomaly. "I had a wart, once, that used to bother me. Huge damned thing, it was, with hairs on it, and it was ugly. Can you believe that, on a body like mine? Women didn't like it, I can tell you. Had it for years, right here." He arched his back out from the wall and pointed a fingertip to the area beneath the swell of his great, hairy belly, just above his pubis. There was nothing to be seen there now. 'Then one day it was gone, just like that." He tried to snap his wet fingertips. "Don't know how quickly it went, or why, or even when ... I just looked, one day, and it wasn't there ... Hector really succeeds, doesn't he?"

  The non sequitur left me floundering. "What are you talking about?" I asked him. "That doesn't make sense. How did you include Hector and warts in the same thought?"

  Derek stretched mightily, yawning, and then stood up and began to sweep the streaming moisture from his great frame with the edge of one hand. He saw me glance idly at his genitals and grinned, hitching his belly up with both hands and bending forward to peer down.

  "Don't see that too much, nowadays," he drawled. "But I don't use it as much as I used to, either. Must be growing old, but it doesn't seem as important as it used to be." He released his belly and reached behind him for a towel. "I said Hector succeeds, that's all. Nothing to do with warts. I was thinking about how you've managed to disguise yourself, and I'm not even talking about the beard and the hair-colouring."

  I had grown a full beard and darkened my hair artificially shortly after moving up into the hills to live in Mediobogdum, and sufficient time had passed since then that I gave the transformation little thought. Derek did not even glance at my hair as he continued.

  "You've effaced yourself completely. I really noticed it today, during the celebrations. Everyone here knows who you are, but they all call you Cay, and they all treat Hector as though he's the leader of your group. He even believes it himself, or he seems to. Damnation, I even think of you as Cay nowadays, and I know damn well who you are. Three or four months ago, when you f
irst arrived, I would have sworn that was impossible ... unachievable. But you've done it. Merlyn of Camulod has disappeared."

  "Good," I replied. "That's as it should be. And the longer he remains absent, the better it will be for the boy."

  I had followed Shelagh's inspired suggestion long since, and arranged my own disappearance, making sure that everyone in Ravenglass had seen Arthur and me sail away with Connor. What no one knew but us, however, was that Connor had landed us again, no more than a few miles farther along the coast, safely out of sight of Ravenglass and its people. We had then returned here and become the childless Master Cay and his young apprentice.

  I had not moved from my original position facing him, and now I wiped the heavy perspiration from my face, blinking the sting of it from my eyes and thinking we had almost been in the steam room too long. When I opened my eyes again, Derek was still standing there, gazing down at me, his towel hanging from his hand, and Luke had shrugged himself up into a seated position, bent forward with one elbow on his knee while he wiped his face with the towel he had been using as a pillow.

  "What?" I asked. "What's wrong? What are you staring at?"

  "May I ask you a question?"

  I glanced at Lucanus, surprised that Derek would even think to seek permission before blurting his question out. "Of course."

  "Do you trust me? That's not the one, not the question, I mean."

  I smiled up at him and then rose to my feet. "Let's get out of here, before we melt. Of course I trust you. How could you even need to ask that, after all this time?"

  Lucanus stood aside to allow us to pass him, then followed us out into the dry, cool air of the pool-room suite. All three of us plunged quickly into the cold pool, which had the effect of ice on our overheated bodies, and climbed quickly out to towel ourselves down briskly until our skins were glowing with cleanliness and health. By common consent, none of us spoke until all three were dry, and then we made our way to the changing rooms, where we began to dress. Lucanus was the first to speak," uttering his first words since entering the bathhouse, more than an hour earlier.

  "I can't believe we're the only ones here."

  Derek glanced at him beneath raised brows. "Believe it, they're all stuffing themselves. We'll be lucky if there's anything left for us to eat by the time we get out there." He began moving towards the door.

  I felt at peace, not the slightest pang of hunger gnawing at me, and I ignored their efforts to leave, choosing instead to speak with Derek when there were no other ears about to hear me. "You were going to ask me a question, moments ago. But why did you ask me if I trusted you?"

  Derek stopped, with his hand on the door, and then turned about and came back, sitting down squarely on the seat across from me. "Because your answer would decide the form of my next question. I knew you trusted me with this secret ... the secret of your whereabouts and your identity—because you know you're safe there. My existence, and my people's, depends on my good faith in that. But I meant, do you trust me beyond that?"

  I could see from his face that he was serious, that he expected me to respond, and that he was watching me closely enough to discern the truth were I to attempt to dissemble in any way. I stared back at him, narrowing my eyes and nibbling at the inside of my lower lip. He waited, staring at me as I sought the words I would use. Finally they came to me.

  "Yes, Derek, I trust you, far beyond that. I always have, though for no logical reason. I simply have, and that's all there is to it That's why we came to Ravenglass in the first place. I came in answer to a dream that told me I might trust you. I'll admit openly to you now that there have been times I have wondered at myself, and debated the wisdom and the folly of my own feelings, but I chose to remain here, for all that, with my people, and in trust, and have never regretted it. We have all found you to be a true and loyal friend, these past few months. Luke, here, agrees with me. We spoke of this only a few nights ago ... What's the matter? Did I say something to displease you?"

  Unaccountably, his face had darkened into something resembling a perplexed scowl. Now he shook his head. "No, but I find that difficult to accept," he growled. "I mean. Your loyalty is all to the boy, and I killed his father. How can you trust me that much, knowing what I said to you when you first came here?"

  "Why should I mistrust you? Here, I'll trust you even further, with this knowledge ... " I paused, watching his face as keenly as he watched mine. I had been keeping back a truth from Derek. I knew him, now, to be a just and honourable man, and until that moment I had been loath to tell him what I knew about his full role in Arthur's fate: how his passing lust had left the boy not merely fatherless, but motherless. Now, I believed, the time had come to tell him. Perhaps it would bind him further to us and the success of our mission.

  "Not only did you kill the lad's father, you killed his mother, too."

  He jerked back from me as though I had slapped him across the face, his eyes flaring wide with angry disbelief. I held up my hand to quell his response before it could reach his lips. "It's true, Derek!" He checked himself, then sat as though turned to stone, even the motion of his eyes suspended. I continued, keeping my voice level now. "The woman on the beach—the one you were ... employed with, when I arrived. Do you recall?"

  "The red-haired one ... " He glanced sideways quickly; guiltily, to where Lucanus stood listening, as though expecting Luke to assail him next.

  "Aye, the red-haired one," I confirmed quietly. "That was Ygraine of Cornwall, Lot's wife and Uther's mistress ... Arthur's mother."

  Derek of Ravenglass seemed to shrink as though all the air in him had been released, and as he did, I saw credence growing in his eyes. But then he shook his head, a tiny gesture of bewilderment. "But ... I didn't kill her. She was alive! I threw her aside when you rode up, but she was unhurt"

  I nodded, still speaking gently. "That's true, Derek, she was. But then you mounted your war horse, to meet me man to man, and in the mounting, your horse kicked her or trampled her, I know not which. She lay dying when I found her, her skull crushed. And the child, Arthur, was in the birney."

  In the silence that followed, Lucanus moved to Derek's side and placed one hand on his shoulder. "That was an act of God, my friend ... the killing ... We both know that. No blame in it accrues to you. You took the woman as a prize of war, against her will—that's normal in such cases. You had no intent to kill her, did you?"

  Derek shook his head, his eyes filled with confusion and a suggestion, at least to my eyes, of regret and even pain. "No," he murmured, his big voice now barely audible. "She was ripe and lush. I wanted her, but I had no thought of killing her ... And yet I killed the others. Some of them ... one of them. She fought me, to keep me from the red-haired one. She seized my dagger and came at me. I turned her wrist and thrust, and pulled her onto the point ... "

  "Self-defence," Lucanus said. I was startled that he should condone such things, even obliquely, but I saw at once that he was being politic. "Ygraine, the red-haired woman, is the important one here. You had no thought of killing her, of bringing about her death in any way, had you?" Derek shook his head, and Luke went on.

  "You had no knowledge of her death, did you, until here and now? You were unaware your horse had kicked or trampled her in your scramble to mount up when Cay, here, arrived to challenge you, thinking you to be Uther, am I correct?" Again, a wordless nod was Derek's sole response. "Good, then. No willful involvement in the young woman's death may be attributable to you. But there is more, so you had better let Cay tell it to you, and listen carefully."

  Derek collected himself and straightened with a deep sigh, looking me straight in the eye again. "There's more? Then best to give it to me quickly. How much more can there be?"

  "Not much, but it is vital, and only we two, Luke and I, have knowledge of it. You will be the third, and last, to know the full connection ... how the circle closes. Arthur, I swear, will never know, nor any other, from our lips." I stopped, and glanced at Lucanus, suddenly
uneasy. "Luke, if you please, make sure we are alone." He moved immediately to verify that no one was within hearing range, and we waited until he returned, nodding to me that all was clear. I turned again to Derek.

  "Ygraine was daughter to your strongest ally, the Eirish king, Athol Mac Iain. She was sister to Connor and to Donuil—sister, too, to my own wife, Deirdre. So you see, the boy is Athol's own grandson, heir to Eire's Scots. He also stands heir to Lot's Cornwall, since Lot acknowledged him and never knew the secret of his true paternity. And he is even heir to my domain in Camulod, in that he is my ward—my nephew and my cousin both. All of Ygraine's kin know that she died in Lot and Uther's war, but none of them, not even Donuil, knows how she died or who killed her. So let it be, and let her rest. Ygraine is dead, she has been mourned, and her son is being protected and well cared for.

  "There, if you wish to play the cynic, lies the basis of my trust in you, as yours must lie in me. I've come to know you better since then, and I believe you when you say you'd never do such a thing. But had I so wished, I could long since have used my knowledge to your ruin. You must now believe I never will, and have never contemplated doing so." I paused for a moment to give him a chance to absorb this new information. "And so! Are we at peace with this, we three?"

  Once again Derek of Ravenglass heaved a great, long sigh, then stood up slowly, his hand outstretched to me. I rose, too, and shook with him, and felt my own throat clench to see the tears that stood in his fierce eyes. He blinked several times to clear them, and then spoke, gulping air to drive his voice, which came out, nonetheless, sounding infirm and shaky.